


come back (i still need you)

by BadWolfGirl3



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apologies, Do what you will with it, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, Fix-It, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Apologies, Hurt/Comfort, I think?, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, So here we are, Some angst, That's really it, Your standard Geralt apologizes fic, but I am weak, everyone and their mother has done this, the tags for this fandom are awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29011035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfGirl3/pseuds/BadWolfGirl3
Summary: He could have apologized. Should have apologized. But the words wouldn’t come no matter how hard he tried to force them out of his mouth, and his feet refused to take him after the bard, kept him anchored right where he was. He let Jaskier walk away from him without a word, without any attempt to stop him. Because if there’s one thing Geralt of Rivia is without a doubt, it’s proud. And stubborn. It might be his downfall.Destiny is doing nothing but showing him the consequences of his own actions, and in return he fucked up the only good thing in his life. Because that’s what Jaskier is. The one bright spot in his incredibly dismal life.Things seem to be destined to get worse before they get better (but they do, in fact, get better).
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 158





	come back (i still need you)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fic for this fandom, so please bear with me. These two wonderful idiots won't leave me alone. I hope you enjoy! Bonus points if you know what song I got the title from.

Things always seem to get worse before they get better.

_Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it?_

The minute the words came out of his mouth he regretted them. But the Yennefer situation had come to a disastrous head and that stupid Child Surprise was weighing on him more than he ever thought it would, and he just… snapped. Anyone else would have done it way before he did. He’s been dealt some fabulously shitty cards, what with Destiny deciding to screw him over, and all, and it’s always easier to blame someone else than admitting that he fucked up. Because he did fuck up. Spectacularly. With Yennefer, with Jaskier, everything. Destiny did nothing but show him the consequences of his own actions, and in return he fucked up the only good thing in his life. Because that’s what Jaskier is. The one bright spot in his incredibly dismal life.

Why did it take losing him to realize just how much Geralt needed him?

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!_

He could have apologized. _Should_ have apologized. But the words wouldn’t come no matter how hard he tried to force them out of his mouth, and his feet refused to take him after the bard, kept him anchored right where he was. He let Jaskier walk away from him without a word, without any attempt to stop him. It doesn't matter is he breaks both their hearts, because if there’s one thing Geralt of Rivia is without a doubt, it’s proud. And stubborn. It might be his downfall. 

Gods, he’s a fucking idiot. _‘I need no one.’_ Bullshit. 

But there’s nothing he can do, so he does what he’s always done: he moves on. It's him and Roach and the open road again, and the Path has never felt more lonely. For the first time in the years he’s been traveling with Jaskier, he misses the noise. He spends winter at Kaer Morhen, where, upon telling Vesemir all that had happened, he gets a raised eyebrow, a “hmm”, and a small head shake. Geralt doesn’t quite know what to do with this, but he thinks he gets the message. 

_You fucked up, Geralt._

He knows. It’s all he can think about, which is incredibly stupid and pointless. There’s not much he can do about it now, so why does he keep kicking himself? Why can’t he just let it go?

_You know why._

Geralt pushes all those thoughts away and concentrates on training harder.

In the spring, he’s back on the Path, taking contracts wherever he can. Without his bard (fuck, when did he start thinking of Jaskier’s as _his?_ ) telling the tales of his heroics people who might have looked at him with thanks before now regard him with that all familiar wariness, backing away from him when he comes near and refusing him shelter and food. He had forgotten how much he hated the stench of fear. Regardless of this, _Toss a Coin_ follows him wherever he goes, which makes little sense, and everytime Geralt hears it he wants to punch something. 

Whoever said Witchers didn’t have emotions was a fucking idiot.

And so it goes day after day, month after month. Take contract, find and kill beast, get paid. Spend a night alone patching himself up or fucking some faceless woman (or man, but he finds that he can’t do it often or he’ll start seeing heartbroken blue eyes and a too quiet voice and the mood will be decidedly ruined), get back on the road with Roach and start it all over. Rinse, wash, repeat. He doesn’t run into Yennefer, a fact he’s unusually relieved by, and he doesn’t find Jaskier (he doesn’t know if this makes him happy or disappointed). If his life had any meaning before it has none now, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with that. When he starts going down that road he finds something to kill, so overall the time spent thinking about his dismal existence is small now. 

It's late summer when it all changes. The days are getting shorter now, and there’s a slight chill in the air that smells like autumn. Soon it will be time for the harvest, but not quite yet. The season isn’t ready to end. Geralt has just finished a contract, a pack of drowners that he originally thought was just one. It’s pissing down outside and the mud of the swamp he had spent hours trekking in hadn’t helped, and there’s a large gash across his shoulder from when he had been too stupid to realize there was more than one of them (he’s getting careless, has been for months now. He knows it's not Jaskier’s fault, but he wants to blame him all the same). As he steps into the inn he’d bought a room at hours earlier, all Geralt wants to do is take the hottest bath he can manage and collapse into bed. 

Until he hears an all too familiar voice and the strumming of lute strings, and he stops in his tracks. 

Jaskier is sitting in a corner, singing some soft and sad tune that Geralt has never heard before. The inn’s patrons aren’t paying much attention to him, but for once he doesn’t seem to mind. This performance seems to be all for himself. He looks tired, Geralt notes, all dark shadows under his eyes and slumped shoulders and a voice that has never sounded so hopeless in all the years he’s known him. Fuck, did he do that to him? Geralt always knew he’d break Jaskier in the end, but to actually see it… 

He shakes his head minutely and sighs. Something inside him screams at him to go over there, to _say something, goddamnit,_ but his pride and stubbornness win over once again. Jaskier won’t forgive him, so what’s the point? He’s better off saving both of them the trouble. It doesn’t matter that there’s the swirl of what feels concerningly close to fear in his gut every time he thinks about talking to the bard. It’s nothing, certainly not _that._ He hasn’t felt fear in a long, long time. He’s about to head up to his room when Jaskier’s head suddenly shoots up, his voice cutting off with a surprised choke as their eyes meet. 

Fuck. 

Before he can look away, say something, do _anything_ , Jaskier is standing shakily up from his table and darting towards the stairs, gripping his lute with white knuckles.

Double fuck. “Jaskier,” Geralt grunts out, ignoring every instinct he’s ever had and following him. 

He makes it up the stairs and down the hall, following the sound of Jaskier’s hurried footsteps. He corners the bard outside what must be his room as he’s fumbling to put the key into the lock. Jaskier’s hands are shaking too hard to be successful, so when he realizes neither of them are going anywhere he throws his hands up with an exaggerated sigh. 

“What the fuck do you want, Geralt?” he asks, his voice tired. “Got anymore shit you need me to shovel?” 

“Jaskier, I-” The words refuse to come, no matter how hard he tries to force them past his lips. All he can do is stare helplessly at the bard, his heart thumping faster than he thinks it ever has. Shit. 

“You what, Geralt? What could you possibly say on top of what you already have? I get it, I ruined your life. You don’t need to rub it in.”

“You didn’t.” His voice is rougher than it usually is. Fuck, why is this so hard? “You couldn’t.”

Jaskier lets out a sharp laugh. There’s no humor in it. “That’s not what you said. Does telling someone that your greatest blessing in life would be them disappearing mean something different to Witchers? Because to humans it’s pretty fucking literal!”

“I know!” Geralt squeezes his eyes shut, a headache forming behind them. Shit, this is going as bad as he thought it would. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have. That’s not what friends do.” Jaskier laughs humorlessly again, and suddenly his eyes are watery, and oh hell, Geralt really fucked up. “Wait, I forgot. We _aren’t_ friends.”

“We are!” Geralt says almost desperately. His hand shoots out without his permission to cup the side of Jaskier’s face, smearing mud and drowner blood all over his skin. The bard stiffens but doesn’t move away, keeping his eyes locked with Geralt’s. “We are friends. You’ve always been my friend, and I- I’m sorry I made you think otherwise.” 

Jaskier is silent for a minute before he sighs and places a hand on top of Geralt’s where it still rests on his cheek. “Would you like to come in and get cleaned up?”

Geralt doesn’t even hesitate before nodding. He has his own room and his own bath and is perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but the thought of being away from Jaskier any longer makes his stomach lurch. Gods, what has this man _done_ to him?

Jaskier opens the door to his room and leads him inside. The room is much like the one he bought for himself, with a bed piled high with furs across from the door a bathtub of water sitting over by the window. Geralt furrows his brows. 

“I had a bath sent up earlier. Before we ran into each other,” Jaskier says in response to his unvoiced question, gesturing at the tub before turning to place his lute on a table near the bed. “You’re welcome to it.” 

“It’s yours,” Geralt says, unable to say anything else. He feels out of his element here, more lost than he’s ever been. Jaskier has a knack for making him feel that way. 

“And I want you to have it,” Jaskier turns from his lute to Geralt, locking eyes with him. The side of his mouth quirks up, the first smile Geralt has seen from him since before that day on the mountain. “Besides, you smell like shit.”

“Hmm.” Geralt can’t stop a small smile from pulling at his lips. Jaskier’s shoulders relax from where he had them hiked up around his shoulders, and it feels like maybe they’ve found some common ground. 

Geralt undresses quickly, refusing to look at Jaskier even as he feels the bard’s eyes boring holes into him. This is nothing they haven’t done before, having shared rooms before, but now it seems different. He slips into the bath with a sigh, the water a little lukewarm but altogether soothing to his aching muscles.

“Sweet Melitele, what did _that?_ ” Jaskier asks, pointing at the gash on Geralt’s shoulder. Right. He had honestly forgotten about it in all the excitement, but now that he remembers it starts to throb painfully. He sighs. 

“Drowner. There were more than I prepared for and I got careless.” He rolls his shoulder, clenching his teeth against the burn. “Looks worse than it is.”

Jaskier sighs and rolls his eyes, muttering something that sounds a lot like, “Gods save me from idiot Witchers,” before heading over to his bag where he’d left it on the floor by the bed and pulling out needle and thread. “Let me sew it up for you, at least.” 

Geralt grunts in response, hoping Jaskier will take it for the agreement it is. The bard pulls a stool up to the bath and sits down, laying warm hands on Geralt’s skin and steadying him before getting to work. Geralt can barely feel the bite of the needle as it is, but being so close to Jaskier, feeling his warm breath wash over him and hearing his comforting heartbeat, is all the additional distraction he needs. 

They sit in silence, but Geralt can practically hear Jaskier’s internal struggle. The bard never was one for staying silent. 

“How’s Yennefer?” Jaskier blurts out, wincing when the words leave his mouth. “I mean, not that I care or anything, but…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely with the hand not holding the needle. 

Geralt grunts softly, his eyes kept locked on his clenched fists resting on his lap. There are clearly things they need to talk about that they can’t seem to voice, and this is Jaskier’s way of breaching the subject. Geralt is tempted to change the subject, or really just not answer at all, but… He got them into this mess. The least he can do is meet Jaskier halfway.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “I haven’t seen her.” 

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice sounds small. “You haven’t?” He clears his throat and looks squarely at his hands as they sew Geralt’s shoulder back together. “I just assumed you’d have made up with her by now. Road off into the sunset together and had gorgeous babies together.” He winces. “Not that you can have babies, obviously I know you can’t, I just meant, since you're so in love with each other-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupts, placing a hand on his wrist. The bard stills, his eyes flicking up to meet Geralt’s. “Yennefer and I are over. I’ll always… be connected to her. But I don’t love her that way.”

“...You don’t?” Geralt doesn’t think he’s ever heard Jaskier’s voice so small. 

Geralt shakes his head. “No.” 

Here’s the thing about Yen. After having a very long think about this on the road somewhere when he was missing Jaskier and kicking himself in the ass for all that he’d done, he realized a couple of things. The first was that his feelings for Yennefer were much more surface level than he thought. She was magnificent, and magnetic, and beautiful, and he’d been drawn in by all those things and thought it was love. He let himself be captivated by her because they were the same, and because she was a mystery to him. But even before the mountain he knew that they could never work. They’d break each other down until there was nothing left of either of them, and that, he had realized with a jolt one night, was not love. That was something else. They’d always be connected because of the wish he’d made, but that was it. The second thing he discovered was that even though he didn’t love Yennefer that way, he did love someone else. 

Jaskier. 

And that was one of the roots of the issue. He tried to fight it, tried to ignore it, told himself the bard was useless and a pain in the ass and a mere acquaintance that sometimes followed him like a lost puppy, but all that did little to cover up the very large, very insistent feelings he has for the man next to him, to bury the fear he had of fucking him up and losing him deep down to a place where he’d never look at it. It never worked, but he kept trying anyway. He was foolish to think it would make a difference.

Jaskier clears his throat and ties off the thread, leaving a neatly sewn wound behind. “Well, then. That’s… good.” 

Geralt furrows his brows, his heart speeding up in his chest. “Is it?” 

Jaskier nods, twisting his fingers. “Very.” He reaches out and brushes a stray piece of hair out of Geralt’s eyes. “Very good.”

Geralt can’t move. He’s not supposed to feel this way, the raging storm churning in his gut and stealing all his breath from him. Jaskier is looking at him with those beautiful blue eyes that have haunted him since the day they met, and his lips are open in a soft pout that shouldn’t look as _sinful_ as it does, and Geralt suddenly can’t breathe, his mouth drying and heart thudding against his ribcage. Is this how humans always feel? 

They stare at each other for what feels like hours before Jaskier sets his jaw. “Fuck it.” 

And then he’s cupping Geralt’s jaw in his hands and pulling his face towards his, and then their lips are meeting and oh fuck nothing has ever felt this good. After allowing himself one second of shocked stillness, Geralt brings his hands up out of the water to pull Jaskier closer and kiss him hard, one hand fisting in his hair and the other wrapping around his shoulders. This might be the best thing he’s ever done. Jaskier’s lips are soft and wet, and the sounds he makes are _divine_ , little gasps and moans falling from his lips like rain, and he smells like jasmine and sweat and _him,_ a perfect mix that Geralt hadn’t realized he missed until he had it back. 

If he thought that the bard was vocal before, nothing can compare to how loud he is _now._

“Oh Gods, Geralt,” Jaskier moans between kisses, hands drifting into his hair and pulling. Geralt grunts and bites down on his lower lip, drawing out another groan from the bard. 

He wants to pull him closer but the tub is making things difficult, so he stands up, pulling Jaskier with him, and drags them both towards the bed. He throws Jaskier down on the bed and cages him in, kissing him deeper. There’s something so delicious about doing this while he’s naked and Jaskier is completely clothed, and from the way he moans and pulls him closer, the bard agrees. 

“Clothes off, now,” Geralt growls, yanking at Jaskier’s shirt. With the two of them working together it comes off quickly, and Geralt roams his hands all over Jaskier’s chest, taking in as much skin as he can at once before drifting them down towards his trousers and-

“Wait, wait, wait!” Jaskier gasps, chest heaving as he pulls back from the kiss to lock eyes with him. Geralt feels something dangerously close to worry clench somewhere in his chest. The bard’s eyes are bright and so, so blue, and Geralt doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this open before. “Tell me this isn’t a one time thing. That you aren’t doing this because you pity me or you feel guilty, or any of that. That you’re doing this because you… want me.” 

Geralt swallows thickly and grabs Jaskier’s hand, cradling it in his own and pressing a kiss to his palm. He feels raw, cracked open and displayed for Jaskier in a way he hasn’t been with anyone else, and… he doesn’t mind it. He’s safe here, and if he doesn’t say this now then he might not get to say it ever again. He takes a deep breath. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I love you and I want you in whatever way you want, here with me always.” 

The smile Jaskier gives him is brighter than the sun, appearing suddenly and tentatively before spreading quickly to the rest of his face. He lets out a shocked little laugh and brings Geralt back in for a kiss, smiling almost too wide to make it much more than a simple pressing of lips together. Geralt wants him to feel like this always.

“I love you too,” Jaskier says when they pull apart, running his hands through Geralt’s hair. “Gods, Geralt, I love you so much. I’ve loved you almost since the day I met you.” 

Geralt closes his eyes and buries his head in Jaskier’s neck, breathing him in. Everything feels so good but so overwhelming, and he needs a minute to just _breathe._ Jaskier _loves him._ Holy shit. The bard seems to understand, because he pulls him closer and runs his hands up and down his back, humming softly. 

“I don’t deserve you,” Geralt murmurs into Jaskier’s neck, swallowing thickly. 

Jaskier shakes his head and strokes Geralt’s hair. “You do,” he whispers back. “You deserve _everything._ ”

The way he says it tells Geralt that it would be pointless to argue. Maybe it's not a question of who deserves what. Maybe this is just his choice, the one he will make time and time again, because for all the pain and fear, Jaskier is worth it. He will always be worth it. And maybe that’s enough. Taking a few deep breaths, Geralt pulls back and gives Jaskier a small smile, which he returns. 

“Now, Witcher,” Jaskier purrs, sweet smile turning sinful as he guides Geralt’s hand back to his trousers, “show me what you can do.”

“With pleasure,” Geralt growls before pulling Jaskier back into another bruising kiss. There’s no more talking after that. 

Afterwards, when they are both curled together and sated, their heavy breathing filling the air, Geralt wonders why they hadn’t done this sooner. He has had sex with so many people, enough that their names and faces blur together, but this was completely new. Being connected with Jaskier in that way, hearing his moans and lacing their fingers together as they fell apart in each other's arms… well. He wants to do it again and again, to be wrapped in the embrace of his love always.

His love. Now doesn't that sound like music to the ears?

It’s not long before Jaskier breaks the silence, humming a few bars of something that Geralt has never heard. He rolls his eyes and pulls the bard closer, burying his nose in his soft hair. 

“Please tell me you aren’t writing a song about my dick,” he murmurs, holding him tight. 

“I’m not… not writing a song about your dick,” Jaskier says sheepishly against his chest.

“You’re lucky I love you, bard,” Geralt grumbles, shocked at how easy the words come now. He feels Jaskier’s lips curl again his skin and feels the corner of his mouth quirk up in return. 

“Yeah, I am,” Jaskier murmurs before pressing a kiss to Geralt’s chest. “And you’re lucky I love _you.”_

“Hmm,” Geralt hums. “I really am.” He pulls one of the furs on the bed over the both of them and blows out the candle near the bed, sending them into darkness

“Goodnight,” he says, pressing a kiss to his head. 

“Goodnight, darling,” Jaskier replies, ducking up to kiss Geralt softly before settling back in his spot on his chest, humming contentedly. 

Maybe this whole Destiny thing isn’t so bad after all, Geralt thinks as his eyes close, the sound of his bard’s soft breathing sending him quickly towards sleep. If it gets him Jaskier, then that’s okay with him. As long as he has Jaskier… everything will be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> And there you go! I'm honestly kind of obsessed with this fandom. Do I know anything about the Witcher besides what is in the show? Nah. Have I read the books or played the games? Nope (the first book is coming in the mail soon though). Do I know what I’m doing? Nooo. Is that okay? Sure, why not. 
> 
> I hope to write more for this soon! I've got a couple ideas bouncing around that I want to flesh out. Let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Stay safe y'all, and thanks!


End file.
